


Smoke

by dormiensa



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Curses/Spells, F/M, Imprisonment, Language, Psychological Trauma, Suspense, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-11
Updated: 2016-09-11
Packaged: 2018-08-14 09:08:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8007394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dormiensa/pseuds/dormiensa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Hermione and her two best friends were captured by Snatchers, she never escaped Malfoy Manor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Smoke

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a pinch-hit for the Hawthorn & Vine Reverse Challenge 2014.

He was finally alone in the safety of his room. 

With his last bit of strength, he made sure that his door was locked and warded and that his room was properly Silenced. No one, not even his parents, could enter, and none of them would hear any sound emitted from this space.

Halfway toward his bed, his legs gave out. Landing hard on the carpeted floor, Draco slowly regained his breath and curled up in the fetal position. And wept.

He sobbed and cursed and howled like a wounded animal. Oblivious to his environment. Oblivious to time. All he knew was his overwhelming, debilitating grief.

At long last, exhaustion took him and rendered him unconscious.

But just before he succumbed to the soothing comfort of utter weariness, he thought he heard her whisper, “Stop torturing yourself, Draco. Go to sleep.”

***

Narcissa entered her rooms and activated the wards. She was worn out.

It had taken every last bit of cunning to convince Bella and the other Death Eaters to let her dispose of the body. She finally managed to persuade them that it was her duty, as a lowly servant in her own home, to deal with cleaning up after them. Thankfully, she had been able to make eye contact early on with Lucius, so he had not sabotaged her plan. She knew he did not understand. She barely did herself. Some motherly instinct was triggered when she saw the broken body on the floor of the drawing room.

She had cremated the body, the only way to ensure it would not be further violated in any fashion after death. And she now hid it securely behind a secret panel in the suite of the lady of the manor. So long as she lived, no one would find the urn. 

Narcissa contemplated checking on her son before she settled for the night but decided she was too tired. If she were caught unawares by one of the Death Eaters, then her efforts would be for naught.

She uncorked a bottle of Sleeping Draught.

***

When Draco awoke, he spent several disoriented minutes wondering why he was on the floor. Then, the memories of the past three days came rushing back. His heart clenched, but he found that his grief had wrung him out; he was too weak to even cry.

“Good morning, Draco,” said a soft, wistful voice.

Draco struggled into a sitting position, his eyes searching wildly about the room for the source of the voice. _Her_ voice. 

Then, he gasped. Looking at him from the mirror above his dresser was Hermione.

“Hermione,” he mouthed, though no sound was uttered. Breathless and desperate, he willed himself to crawl, bit by bit, toward her. He managed to hoist himself up, leaning heavily against his dresser, gazing hungrily at her lovely visage. 

He placed a hand on the mirror and saw her mimic him. 

And then, the words burst out. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry” became an odd chant that he kept repeating, over and over. Fresh tears appeared and trickled down his face. He was soon clawing at the mirror, wanting to touch her, but the glass firmly resisted. He heard her soothing words, absolving him, heard her shushing him to calm his distress. 

Suddenly, she scolded. “Draco Malfoy, stop acting like a whinging prat this instant!”

His head jerked back from where it had rested against the mirror. 

She giggled at his gobsmacked expression. “Well, at least I haven’t lost my touch. Don’t cry, Draco. It breaks my heart to see you like this. You know there’s nothing you could’ve done. It’s Bellatrix’s fault, not yours. And if you have any feelings for me at all, you’d focus on protecting yourself from her and from any of the others. They can’t hurt me now.”

“Hermione!” 

“Hush! I’m sorry I’ve caused you such grief. I thought I could withstand the curse—I’d read up on how to prevent the worst harm from it.”

Draco couldn’t resist snorting. “Of course you did.”

“Yes. It would’ve been silly not to, given that we were out hunting Hor—knowing the constant threat of being discovered by the Death Eaters. I think I could’ve managed to survive if your crazy aunt hadn’t poisoned the blade. Whatever that poison is must contain traces of sulphur. I’ve always been allergic to it.”

“So, that’s why my mother wouldn’t let me see your body. She’s always been overly protective, but I knew there was something she was withholding from me. I’m sorry, love.”

“I told you: it’s not your fault.”

“I should’ve grabbed you and escaped with Potty and Weasel King. Things were so chaotic after Dobby appeared that I’m sure we would’ve made it. But I froze.”

“Draco, stop it! You’re going to drive yourself crazy.”

Draco sighed. There was no use arguing when she was in bossy mode. He’d yet to win an argument when she was like this. He sighed again. And now, he’d never have another opportunity to properly row with her. A sudden thought roused him, and he stared straight into her eyes. “Tell me the truth: what were you and your hapless hangers-on hunting?”

Hermione blinked then smiled ruefully. “And here I was, congratulating myself that I’d distracted you from my slip of tongue.” She considered him a moment before replying, “We were hunting for Vold—for You-Know-Who’s Horcruxes. He made six of them, and we were down to the last three when the Snatchers found us.” At his confusion, Hermione briefly explained what Horcruxes were and why she and the boys were trying to destroy them.

Draco was stunned. _Seven_ severed pieces of soul? No wonder the Dark Lord was barmy. 

“I was thinking about them while you were asleep, and I think I know where one of them may be.”

“Where?”

“In Bellatrix’s vault. She was in an utter panic when she saw the sword, and I guess it was given to her for safekeeping.”

“That makes sense.”

“Oh, but if only I could tell Harry and Ron! Cliodna confound that dratted Bellatrix!”

Draco burst out laughing. “You’ve got to work on your cursing, love.”

Hermione huffed. Then, she looked beseechingly at him. “Draco, could you—?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Still the bleeding-heart Gryffindor. Fine, let me think of a way to owl them or something. I don’t know if I can locate them. And even if I do, they’re not likely to trust me.”

Hermione _hmm’d_ thoughtfully. “I used a Time-Turner in Third to get to all twelve of my classes. Only Harry and Ron know this. And the teachers at Hogwarts, of course.”

“You took _twelve_ classes in Third?! You really _are_ a swotty know-it-all. No wonder you were so snappy that year.”

“You deserved that slap.”

“Clearly overstressed from all the homework—”

“Back to the point: if you tell them that you know about the Time-Turner, then they’ll know that I told you.”

“Fine, fine, your swottiness! It may take me a day or two to plan it out.”

“Thank you, Draco.”

“Potter’d better win this damned war. If he loses, I’ll be lucky to get stuck in the mirror like you.”

***

Narcissa frowned as she noticed Draco slip into the garden and carefully make his way to the very back and past the wards. What was the foolish boy up to? He’d been very secretive these last two days, holing himself up in his room most of the time. She’d sensed him evoking the aid of the manor to shield him from detection by the Death Eaters—and Lucius, interestingly—but she could not determine his intent.

Then, she saw the owl take flight. Who on earth was Draco contacting?

She felt another headache coming on. Whatever her son was up to, she’d have to keep a close eye on him. There was enough trouble under this roof. Thankfully, the Dark Lord’s wrath was temporarily focussed on Bella and Greyback. 

She surreptitiously added her own protective spell to help Draco return safely to his room.

***

“Draco! What happened? Did You-Know-Wh—”

“It was your two thugs for friends. The thanks I get for being nice. Won’t happen again. I’m a Slytherin, not a Hufflepuff.”

“Harry and Ron?! But how—”

“They were demanding that I help you escape, and I sort of… blurted that you were dead. They’d probably have beaten me senseless if I hadn’t cast Body Binds on them.”

“And… and they know what to do? They got away safely?”

“I’m just spiffing, thanks for your concern.”

“I’m sorry, Draco. I really appreciate all you’ve done. And Harry and Ron do, too. It’s just—”

“Save your explanations. I told their Petrified bodies the easiest way to get into the Gringotts vault and tucked the vials of hair and blood into Potty’s pockets. Removed the spell when I was a safe distance away. Whether they’ll pay any heed to my instructions is out of my hands.”

“They _can_ be reasoned with, you know. They were just in shock over… news of me. Have you put any dittany on those bruises? If it’s still painful, you can try the essence of Murtlap—”

“I passed Potions with just as good grades as you did.”

“Oh, Draco, don’t be like that! I do care about you! But I can see that you’re safe—”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m going to take a shower and reapply the potions. The Dark Lord will be back tomorrow, and I can’t let him see me like this.”

***

The time of reckoning had finally arrived.

The wood was eerily silent. Narcissa strained to keep still, to not attract attention. The Dark Lord had already reprimanded Lucius for wanting to go back to the castle for Draco. She hoped the Potter boy knew a way to ensure the monster died a slow, agonizing death. He did not deserve the Avada Kedavra. 

The wood remained resolutely silent. Was the Potter boy coming? Surely his Gryffindor courage would not desert him at such a time.

Then, he announced his presence. And Narcissa held her breath.

***

Draco slumped against the wall.

He was dead. The Dark Lord was dead. Harry Fucking Potter had finally defeated him. But beyond a small measure of relief, all Draco could feel was numbness. Crabbe. Stupid Crabbe. Releasing the Fiendfyre and getting himself killed in the process. And unlike those on Potter’s side who’d fallen and who’d be honoured by the Ministry for heroic deeds, Crabbe’s death would be ignored. Well, hopefully. He wouldn’t put it past Weasel King to blab about the Fiendfyre. 

But what did it matter? He and his parents were likely going to end up in Azkaban along with all the other surviving Death Eaters. And then Potter and the Order of the Phoenix would take over the Ministry and start a new brainwashing program to turn everyone into gormless poofters who only oozed kindness and affection for wizards and Muggles alike. Oh, Hermione would be so proud.

Draco’s breathing stuttered. _Hermione._ What would happen to her while he was imprisoned? No one knew about her current state. There was a high possibility that the Aurors would think she was some work of Dark magic and smash the mirror. 

_No!_

“Draco… Drakie-kins, what’s the matter? You’re frightening me. Tell Mummy what’s wrong.” 

Draco felt his mum’s soothing caresses. He took several deep breaths to repress his anxieties. “I’m fine. Just… thinking about Crabbe.”

“Oh, my poor boy. It’s all right to grieve. No one will think any less of you.”

“I’ll be fine. Excuse me, _Mummy_. I think I’ll go for a walk, if they’ll let me.”

***

For the first time in months, Narcissa awoke refreshed—in body, at least, if not completely in mind.

Twenty years was not such a long time; they had lived in muted dread of the Dark Lord’s return for thirteen years, after all. Azkaban was no longer under the terror of Dementors. And Lucius was in some ways safer there than under the scrutiny of the wizarding world while it attempted to rebuild itself. It was a long road to trudge toward respectability, but there was hope. Credit had to be given to the Potter boy. Narcissa hadn’t dared dream of the extent of his generosity in naming her his saviour. So long as she treaded carefully, her family would have a stronger foothold in this new order than they would’ve if the Dark Lord had been victorious.

But no more wallowing in fear of the future. Despite it being the first day of a year’s house arrest, she was once again lady of the manor in the true sense of the word. She and the house-elves needed to get started on cleansing the house thoroughly from top to bottom.

Narcissa got out of bed.

***

“Draco Malfoy! Where the hell have you been?”

Draco yelped. He spun around and saw Hermione, hands on hips, glaring at him from the mirror in the farthest corner of the ballroom. He walked over. “How the hell did you get down here?”

“Oh please, I’ve been all over the house. I know the location of every mirror, even the scrying ones in the secret vault.”

“Did anyone else see you?”

“Of course not! What do you take me for? And you haven’t answered me: where have you been?”

“On trial at the Ministry! They only just let us back. And don’t worry, Mum and I are stuck here for the next year, so you’re going to see so much of me, you’ll get sick of it!”

“So, I take it you got off with house arrest? You should thank your lucky stars—”

“Lucky? To have felt like a prisoner in my own home while the Dark Lord ruled it and now to _be_ a prisoner while Potty and the rest of them lord it over us—”

“Well, it’ll be a taste of your own medicine, then.”

“Oh, so now I _deserve_ this? What if I were to tell you that you _deserve_ to be stuck in that mirror?”

“How dare you? Oh, if I could only get out, I’d slap you so hard—”

“You’re dead, remember?”

“You—” 

With a soundless stamp of her foot, Hermione disappeared from view.

***

Narcissa paused in her attempt to consecrate the guest room. She thought she heard a sniffling noise. But that was silly. Bibbity and Bobbity were busy laundering the linens. Mipsy and Mopsy were occupied with repairing damages to the walls and floors. The noise was most likely caused by one of the portraits in the hall, the sound distorted.

***

“Hermione? Are you in here? Hermione? Ah, so you _are_ here. Clever of you to hide in father’s suite. Certainly not the first place I’d search.” Draco grinned at the sullen face in the mirror hanging from the inside of the wardrobe.

“What do you want?”

“Look, I’m sorry I yelled at you the other day. It’s been a stressful few weeks while I awaited my doom. I was sure they’d kick me into Azkaban.”

“Well, I’m glad you weren’t. But you still had no right to say those hurtful things. I was worried sick. And the house doesn’t like me.”

“Oh, don’t be silly. If it didn’t like you, it’d’ve gotten rid of you somehow. I’m sorry I was cross, all right?”

“Fine.”

“You know, now that I’ve got a year’s worth of free time, I figured I’d do some research, see if we can get you out of the mirror at least. What do you think?”

Hermione beamed. 

Draco chuckled. “Now, are we finished sulking? Shall we head back to my room to discuss this? I’ll bring up some books from the library and read them to you…”

Hermione disappeared.

***

Narcissa felt that prickling sensation at the back of her neck.

She paused in her reading and looked about the room. No one. She cast a few, non-verbal intruder detection spells. Nothing. She looked at her reflection in the mirror and triggered a different set of detection spells. Negative.

But she was not imagining things, of that she was certain. Growing up in the same household as Bella had honed her survival skills, and her sensitivity to danger was very fine-tuned.

She headed downstairs toward the library.

***

Draco rubbed his tired eyes. Then, he glanced at the clock. Another twelve hours spent reading.

He yawned and stretched. He slammed the book shut in disgust. He’d lost count of how many books he’d perused in the past two months. He had not yet exhausted the library, but he’d certainly gone through the tomes he considered the most likely to contain a solution.

And Hermione was getting impatient. On bad days, she was downright hostile. He understood her impatience—he was just as anxious to free her from the confines of the manor’s mirrors—but he was hurt by her sharp words and insinuations that he wasn’t trying hard enough. The injustice rankled. Couldn’t she see how hard he’d been working? He was putting far more effort now than he’d done in Sixth, and he’d had more to lose back then. 

He yawned. A small part of him dreaded getting out of the chair, dreaded having to face her disappointment once again. One particularly exhausting and fruitless day the week prior, he’d finally lost his temper. Instead of reminding her that research took time and appealing to her capacity for logic and reason, a trait he’d always thought made her wonderfully un-Gryffindorkish, he’d accused her of making a mockery of his affections for her; he claimed she was merely using him to regain her freedom, and once accomplished, she’d laugh at him for ever trusting her.

It had been their worst fight to date and resulted in her hiding away for three days to sulk before finally, grudgingly, apologizing. 

Thankfully, no one else in the manor heard them. Draco had taken to automatically Silencing his room in case they rowed and to spending breaktime in rooms that did not contain mirrors because Hermione tended to pop up unexpectedly. Sometimes, she demanded reports on his (lack of) progress. Other times, she would whine about how lonely she was without him. Recently, she’d found amusement in scaring him; and her delighted cackles were starting to grate on his nerves.

Seeing as there was no point in cracking open a new volume, Draco headed up for a good night’s sleep. It was a good thing that Hermione was always very cooperative about bedtime. She even sang him to sleep.

***

For the first time since the period when the Dark Lord had taken over the manor, Narcissa felt the pressure of confinement keenly. She needed someone to talk to, but she was allowed no visitors, and she was wary of the junior Aurors who came through the fireplace when she asked for help. Upstarts, the lot of them.

The unease she felt was no longer limited to her instincts. The manor itself had been growing increasingly irate at the presence of an as-yet-hidden intruder. She could not determine the nature of this presence, but it was an unwelcome one. 

It was not a poltergeist, though it seemed to be behaving like one. No serious harm had so far been done, but it was leaving traces of mischief. 

And whatever this thing was, it was somehow targetting Draco. Narcissa had seen him become more and more haggard. And he was easily agitated by small noises and sudden movements. He’d also been spending long hours in the library looking up Merlin-knew-what. 

This had to stop. Nothing was going to harm her son and get away with it. 

She would find a way to get a message to Harry Potter and see if the term “life debt” meant anything to him.

***

“You’ve been avoiding me!”

“No, I haven’t! I’ve just been busy trying to get through as many books as possible to find a fucking technique to get you unstuck!”

“You used to bring them to our room to read to me. You stopped doing that _ages_ ago. You don’t love me anymore. You want me trapped here forever. That’s why you haven’t found a solution—you don’t want one!”

“That’s not true!”

“It is! You don’t love me, but you can’t bear to let Harry and Ron have me, so you’re keeping me imprisoned like you are!”

“I _do_ love you! I wouldn’t be working this hard if I didn’t! Please, just give me more time. You know I want more than anything to get you out of there so I can hold you, kiss those lips, bury my nose in that glorious hair. Argh, if only I was stuck at Hogwarts. I never thought I’d miss Pince and her anal-retentive catalogue. After I figure this out, I’m going to spend the rest of my time updating the catalogue for the manor’s library.”

Hermione began sobbing.

“Don’t cry, Hermione! Hush, love.” Draco began pressing kisses against the mirror. “There’s an answer somewhere; I _know_ there is. I just need time. And hey, once you’re free, maybe you could help me with cataloguing? Wouldn’t you like that?”—Hermione’s sniffles became less audible—“That’s my Gryffindoress. Now, why don’t I go a find a nice story to read to you? Would that make you feel better?”

“I want the one about carpenters and oysters.”

“Hmm, all right, I’ll see if we have that one. If I can’t find it, would you settle for something else?”

“Yes.”

***

Narcissa tossed the shears aside and took off her protective gloves. It was no use. She could not concentrate. And in her preoccupation, she’d nearly cut the budding blossom off the top of her prized plant.

She sighed. Andromeda’s research had failed to turn up an explanation. Reluctant as she was to involve the Ministry, she’d accepted Harry Potter’s offer to ask the Department of Mysteries to look into the matter. If neither of the libraries at Hogwarts or the Ministry had answers, then this could very well be something new. As far as the Aurors could determine—and Minister Shacklebolt himself had come with the team to check the manor for possible curses that the Dark Lord might have implanted—neither the manor nor Draco were under any Dark influence, though Draco’s appearance had warranted a visit from a Healer. He was looking less peaky now, but his furtive actions were still a cause of anxiety for Narcissa. He’d also reluctantly admitted that he’d not been sleeping well.

Setting the portraits and the house-elves to spy on him had failed as well. None of the books he pored over gave any hint as to what was preoccupying him. There didn’t seem to be any pattern to his reading. 

Loathe as she was to do so, perhaps it was time to invade his privacy.

***

Draco was jolted awake by the screaming. Stumbling out of bed, he rushed to the mirror. By the time he reached it, the screams had ceased and Hermione was rocking herself, arms wrapped protectively around her torso.

“What’s wrong, love?”

“The spot on the mirror is making evil faces at me.”

“Where is the spot? It’s too dim for me to see it.”

Hermione pointed at it, and Draco immediately began rubbing the spot with his sleeve. 

“No! No! You’ve made it bigger! And now it’s laughing at me.”

“I’m sorry! Let me get a clean cloth to wipe.”

But it was no use. For the next hour, Draco tried every cleansing method he knew, and while he could not see the spot, neither could he get rid of it. Hermione kept insisting more and more adamantly that it was still there.

Finally, a worn out Draco suggested that they move to one of the guest rooms, whichever one possessed a flawless mirror. After eight attempts, they found it.

Draco collapsed on the bed.

***

Narcissa slowly and quietly walked toward Draco’s wing. The manor had obediently shielded her presence from Draco and the unknown entity. She conjured and Disillusioned a seat in one of the corners. And waited.

Draco finally stumbled into his room an hour later. Narcissa noticed the ease with which he set up the wards and Silenced the room. He headed toward his _en suite_ bathroom.

And then, she heard it. A voice. A _female_ voice. She heard Draco have a muttered conversation with it. Who—?

But Narcissa learned who it was soon enough. After Draco settled into bed, a face appeared in the mirror above the dresser. Narcissa managed to stifle a scream. Her first impression was that it was Bella’s visage—it was the same crazed hair and high-pitched inflections of certain words—but as her initial panic calmed, she knew she was mistaken. The hair was unkempt but not as dark as her late sister’s. There was also a different facial structure. 

As Narcissa struggled to put a name to the face, she heard Draco say, “Goodnight, Hermione.”

Narcissa froze. Hermione Granger? But her disbelief was quickly replaced by fear. In a flash, Narcissa realized the truth: after her death, Hermione Granger’s soul must have been trapped by one of the mirrors on the first floor. And she had discovered a means of moving from mirror to mirror around the manor. The manor had recognized her as an intruder but could not get rid of her. Nonetheless, its anti-Mudblood defences had activated and had slowly worked their poisonous spells into her. 

_Mirrors_. Yes, Narcissa also realized that mirrors were the shared connection between all the books Draco had been reading. _He must be trying to free her._ The thought sent a shiver up her spine. No, it was not safe to release this deranged version of Hermione Granger from her prison. She was now attached to the house, so she would still be trapped inside even if she were free of the confines of the mirror. Narcissa did not wish to contemplate what sort of harm the mad form of the young witch could wreak on the house and on them.

Wand at the ready, Narcissa approached the gently humming visage. 

In a flash, the glass shattered, its shards flying in all directions. Narcissa ignored Draco’s yelp and Hermione Granger’s scream and concentrated on quickly reducing the shards to dust, which she quickly siphoned into a charmed bag and sealed.

Removing the Disillusionment, Narcissa strode toward the bed and uncorked a bottle from her pocket that she waved under Draco’s nose. He soon passed out. She tucked him in and placed a kiss on his forehead.

Then, she went in search of all the mirrors in the house.

***

Draco awoke feeling completely disoriented. He struggled against the lingering sleep paralysis to no avail. A Sleeping Draught. Yes, that was always the side effect he experienced after taking that potion. What he couldn’t remember was when and why he’d taken it—he usually avoided it because of the lingering lethargy.

As his mind began drifting, he thought he could hear Hermione humming softly. _She’s in a good mood. It’s been a while since I’ve heard her laugh…_

A faint tinkling, like shattered glass, snapped him to sudden consciousness. The house-elves must’ve broken some of the crystalware. Draco hoped his mum wouldn’t be too angry with them. 

He didn’t think more of it as a fuzziness stole once again over his mind. 

As he drifted off to sleep, he found himself on the grounds of Hogwarts by the lake. And beaming at him, with her hand outstretched, was Hermione in her full Gryffindor get-up. He ran toward her.

***

As she prepared to seal the consecrated wooden box that contained the bag of dusty remains of the entire manor’s mirrors, a translucent, shimmering-silver apparition arose from it. A calm and smiling Hermione Granger looked down at her. The ghostly form resembled the young witch that Narcissa remembered seeing on Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters. Although it made no sound, she saw it mouth the words “thank you” before fading from view.

Narcissa carefully placed the sealed box into the secret compartment that had once stored the ashen remains of the unfortunate young witch.

***

Narcissa had just settled down for some tea when the alarm activated. How did Draco escape Grimby’s watch? And how had he located the box?

Knocking over the tea things, Narcissa rushed to her rooms. And let out a wail.

Draco’s prone form was sprawled on the carpet. A quick glance confirmed that he had attempted to swallow the contents of the wooden box and choked on a sufficient amount as to block his airways and render him unconscious. Narcissa cleared his lungs as best she could.

Harry Potter was quickly notified, and Draco was transferred to St. Mungo’s.

***

Narcissa always arrived at mealtimes. It had been her routine for the past several months, although this was the first time an escort was not required. She rather missed her sister’s company, but the newfound freedom was a welcome change.

She sighed as she entered the room and saw the tray untouched. Draco seemed oblivious to food, even when placed in front of him; the only way to get him to eat was to feed him.

“Hello, Drakie-kins. It’s lunch time now. Let’s see what the kitchens have prepared today. Oh, lovely! It’s your favourite, my dragonet: Gratin Dauphinois. Now, be a dear and open up for Mummy. Good boy!” 

Draco obediently ate from the wooden spoon, his eyes never leaving the photograph clutched in his hands. 

“Hermione is looking very cheerful today, isn’t she?”

“Hermione.”

The Healers had realized that the photograph was the only thing that stopped the screaming and the nightmares. Harry Potter had presented it to Draco. It was an enlarged copy of one of the few photographs he possessed of his late best friend. Apparently, Hermione Granger had always been camera-shy. 

Draco hummed happily as he chewed on his food.

Narcissa sighed and continued to feed her son.


End file.
